


quickies

by honestground



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Cunnilingus, F/M, More tags to be added, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, dominant!Link, more rough sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2018-10-30 17:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestground/pseuds/honestground
Summary: In the home she shares with Link in Hateno Village, she sheds her crown and her title and elaborate dresses, strips down to nothing and becomes just Zelda. Zelda, who loves her knight and Hero. Zelda, who knows of passion and pleasure only at his hands.(a series of smutty zelink stories. updates will be sporadic)





	1. go on, taste it

Over one hundred years ago, Princess Zelda had asked Link what he liked to eat.

His memories of his time with her before are still fuzzy in places, like looking at a landscape through a thick fog, but this moment in particular stands out, and not just because she had tried to make him eat a frog that day.

After depositing the distressed amphibian in a nearby pond, Link had started a fire and made meat and mushroom skewers for lunch—two each, but Zelda had only eaten one of hers, too enthralled with something new she’d discovered on the Sheikah Slate. She had, vaguely, offered her leftovers to him, and he hadn’t questioned her, hadn’t given it a second thought, and by the time she had looked up from the Slate he was already licking the skewer clean.

He had caught her bemused expression and looked away, embarrassed, but she merely hummed, turning back to the Slate while Link packed up, burning any waste and stomping out the fire. He was busy covering their tracks, removing any trace of a fire having been there at all, when she spoke. “Assuming we can rule out frogs, what _do_ you like to eat?”

Link paused. Though he still wasn’t used to speaking candidly with her, he had promised to answer anything she asked him directly. He considered the question seriously for a moment. Then, “Everything.”

Zelda had laughed, and Link had to squash down the wild surge of affection at the sound. “You’re terrible,” she said, and Link had hid his sheepish grin by continuing to clean up their mess. But then:

“What’s something you’ve never had, then?” she asked, offhand, not looking at him, attention still drawn to the Slate. “Something you’d like to try?”

And Link’s wicked eyes had acted of their own accord, starting somewhere at the tips of Princess Zelda’s pointed ears, then moving down her nose, over the curve of her pursed lips, past her chin and down her elegant neck. His gaze continued over her shoulders and down her torso, taking in the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips and rear, stopping at the apex her thighs. Link had swallowed, thought,  _Oh no._

It must have been mere seconds but it had felt like an age, and Link had been so _sure_ she had felt his intense gaze upon her, how it may as well have burned through her clothing, so he forced his eyes to snap to her face again just as she looked up from the Sheikah Slate, and Link managed to catch the blush blossoming across her cheeks just before he ducked his head and looked away.

Caught. 

* * *

 Privacy was hard to come by these days. While Zelda had astutely decided to delay her coronation until the Castle Town restorations were complete, she still had enough responsibility without the crown, so finding time for themselves was starting to get _difficult_. It didn’t help that Impa had taken to sending tails after them whenever they went off alone, and though they had never been caught in more than a less-than-chaste kiss, it was generally frowned upon to be seen rubbing up against the crown princess of Hyrule, and Link was having trouble meeting the Sheikah elder’s eyes these days.

So when Zelda had been granted an entire evening off, _without an escort,_  they had hurriedly stolen away to Link’s house in Hateno—“ _Our_ house,” he would correct her, every time, and she would beam and kiss him, every time—and not three feet through the door, clothes had inevitably started coming off.

As Zelda is flushed and spread out beneath him, eyelids heavy with wanting, Link’s own eyes, pupils blown, ice blue turned deep sapphire in the candlelight, they travel down her body, down to where she opens for him, aches for him, and he recalls that one memory, contemplative.

Link sucks two fingers into his mouth, wetting them thoroughly—just in case—and then carefully, agonizingly slowly, slides them into her, curls them _just so_ , applies pressure _just there_ , until his beautiful, eloquent, proper princess is reduced to gasps and whimpers and broken sentences that somehow all end with, “Goddesses, Link, _please_.”

Here’s where he would normally withdraw his fingers and settle between her legs, would kiss her deeply while he pushed into her, to feel her gasp against his mouth—

—but not tonight. 

Indeed, Link withdraws his fingers, glistening from her arousal, and leans down to kiss her hungrily, as he always does. He feels her trembling with anticipation, her kisses frantic, and he doesn’t miss the soft, confused noise she makes when he removes his mouth from hers to kiss down her neck, to lavish attention to one perfect breast, and to continue his journey down her torso, to dip his tongue briefly into her navel, and travel lower.

Zelda, sensing where this is going, sits up a little. “Link—you don’t have to,” she says uneasily, albeit a little breathless. 

He feels her quiver as his hot breath ghosts over her flesh, and he runs his hand up the inside of one thigh, thumb barely brushing over where she wants him most. “I want to,” he says, and he forces his eyes up her body again, like he did so many years ago, to fixate on her face. “Please.”

Zelda takes in his expression—eager, _ravenous_ —and licks her lips, inhaling nervously. She averts her eyes, embarrassed, and settles down onto the pillows again. “Go on, then.”

At the first long, broad swipe of Link’s tongue, Zelda’s hands go to his hair, and all of the breath leaves her lungs in a low moan. He’s so, so gentle that she’s afraid to move, her entire body quivering with the effort it takes to not cant her hips up against him. Link hums contentedly; everything is delicious—the taste of her, the scent of her, the tremble of her thighs against his ears, her soft, breathless noises, the way her fingers twitch in his hair, and, again, he recalls that one memory.

_... something you’ve never had…?_

_… something you’d like to try…?_

Link dips his tongue into her, teasing, and Zelda involuntarily bucks against him, crying out brokenly. She draws her knees up higher, her fingers tangle in his hair tighter, and Link smiles against her, brings his free hand between her legs to slip two fingers into her again, and Zelda throws her head back against the pillows. “ _Link_.” 

Link begins to rub inside her in gentle circles, delighting in the way her inner muscles flex and tighten around his digits. He’s achingly hard against the bed, every muffled whine and strangled gasp that escape her only encouraging him further, and he commits each one to memory as he experiments, learning which movements elicit which noise. He licks at her slowly, from the base of her slit to the top—

—and the noise she makes is _heavenly_. 

He’s heard and felt and seen her climax enough times to know that her quiet, deep breaths are a good thing, that the occasional helpless twitch of her hips against his face is a _great_ thing, and when she chokes out, “ _Close_ ,” Link pulls her even closer against him, bears down hard, hearing her whimpers climbing and feeling her body thrumming with every twist and curl of his tongue.

“Link— _Link—_ ” Zelda gasps, and then her back arches off the bed, all composure gone, hips in a desperate grind against his mouth, and Link stills his tongue but presses against her hard, relishing the movement of her body, and the heat of her pulsing around his fingers.

_What do you like…?_

He pulls back and kisses her inner thigh, waits until her legs stop trembling, until her breathing has slowed and her grip on his hair has loosened. And when he’s quite sure she’s relaxed and satisfied, he sets his mouth upon her again.

“Link,” Zelda chokes, squirming, struggling to sit up. She’s so worked up and overly sensitive her legs immediately start to shake, and Link raises his head, taking in her flushed, beautiful face, and licks his lips, still tasting her.

Her blush grows more pronounced. “You can stop,” she says, “I’m finished.”

Link lowers his gaze, drops his head again. Closes his eyes and breathes her in. And he says, “I’m not.”

* * *

  _Go on,_

_taste it._


	2. unbecoming

In the castle, she puts on her crown and petticoats and becomes Princess Zelda of Hyrule. Princess Zelda, who loves her kingdom and her people. Princess Zelda, who is unwavering in the face of darkness and adversity. Princess Zelda, who rules with a firm hand and a kind heart with her knight and Hero by her side. 

In the home she shares with Link in Hateno Village, she sheds her crown and her title and elaborate dresses, strips down to nothing and becomes just Zelda. Zelda, who loves her knight and Hero. Zelda, who knows of passion and pleasure only at his hands.

Link and Zelda discover sex together, tumbling into bed one night in mid-winter, under the guise of keeping each other warm. Halting and inelegant the first time, but better the next, and even better all the times that follow. He’s always so gentle, so careful, and Zelda loves to have him like that—warm and sleep-ruffled beneath the blankets, kisses soft and sweet and clumsy. 

But.

Like her sacred power, Link awoke something else within Zelda: something insatiable and feverish and unbecoming of a princess. It isn’t enough anymore that still Link touches her with reverence and makes love to her like she’s made from porcelain, not enough that he murmurs encouragement and endearments as he holds and strokes her through each shuddering climax. 

She sees it when he slips, and she relishes in it—when he’s close and something in his eyes turns primal and ravenous, and he grabs her a little too tight, grinds down just a little too hard. He leaves crescent-shaped welts where his fingernails dig in, and when he’s done he apologises over and over for hurting her or scaring her, even though she’s giddy at the thrill of his loss of control, and smiles to herself when she still aches, days later.

Back at the castle, she is Princess Zelda of Hyrule, whose desires are not unconventional. 

Here in Hateno, she is just Zelda, who wants to be held down and marked, to be bitten and bruised. 

So, this time, when Zelda pushes Link down onto the bed, she shrugs off his gentle hands and undresses herself down to her chemise while Link pulls off his own tunic and watches her, mesmerised. The wonder and longing in his eyes makes heat curl in the pit of her stomach, but it still isn’t quite what she wants tonight. 

“I want to try something,” Zelda says, and she sinks to her knees on the floor. 

He doesn’t let her do this. Even after he services her dutifully with his lips and tongue, and she says it’s only  _fair_  as she trails kisses down his torso, he’ll always squirm away. Even now, she hears the breath catch in his throat. “You shouldn’t kneel for me,” Link mumbles guiltily. “You shouldn’t kneel for anybody.”

“I choose to kneel for you,” Zelda says simply, fumbling with his belt, feeling him straining against the fabric of his trousers despite his reluctance. She frees him from his clothing and hears him sigh in relief, but she doesn’t try anything yet, just looks up to meet his eyes instead, and waits.

Link sees the steel in her expression and blows out a shaky breath, his hand coming to rest on the side of her face, and Zelda feels a thrill run through her: victory, at last. He whispers her name, a plea and a warning, and so Zelda lowers her head and opens her mouth. 

She finds a rhythm quickly, keeping her tongue broad and teeth carefully tucked back away from sensitive skin, working with her hand whatever she can’t reach with her mouth. Link trembles, breaths long and laboured, fingers suddenly grasping in her hair but releasing it just as quickly, as though he’s afraid of overstepping. Zelda breathes in through her nose and takes him as deep as she can, and above her, she hears him let out a stream of curses.

“Zelda.” She feels his hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back. “I won’t last,” he explains, “if you keep doing that.”

“That’s the  _point_ ,” Zelda says, and she reaches for him again, but he catches her hands and bends down to kiss her instead.

“I still want to make love to you,” he murmurs against her lips.

Zelda sighs in exasperation, tangles her fingers in his hair and kisses him filthily, all tongue and teeth. “I don’t want you to  _make love_  to me, Link.” 

He pauses, then, gears whirring in his head, eyes fixed on her face as he frowns. “What do you want?”

Zelda doesn’t quite know how to explain, so she wordlessly pushes to her feet and pulls the straps of her chemise off her shoulders, letting the garment slip to the floor. She feels Link’s eyes on her as she climbs onto the bed, hears his breathing still as she plants herself in the centre of the mattress on her hands and knees, back arched and pelvis tilted forward.

“I want you,” Zelda says, face burning. “Like this.”

He doesn’t speak, but she hears his laboured breathing, and she starts a little when she feels his fingertips just ghosting over the curve of her behind, and she has to bite her lip and fight not to push back into his touch.

“You’re sure?” Link asks, voice a hoarse whisper. 

“Yes,” Zelda replies. It takes great restraint not to add,  _please_. 

She keeps her eyes fixed on the mattress, feels the weight and warmth of his hand as he lays it flat against her skin, a decision made. 

And then he’s gone, for the briefest of moments, to slip out of his breeches, and Zelda barely hears the rustle of fabric over the rush of blood in her ears. But then he’s kneeling behind her on the mattress, leaning over her to press kisses into her spine, and she gasps as she feels his fingers between her legs, making sure she’s ready for him.

“You’ll tell me,” he says, fingers steady even as his voice shakes, “if it’s too much.” 

“Yes,” Zelda breathes. 

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

She whimpers at the loss of his fingers, but then she feels the full thickness and warmth of him pressing into her, agonizingly slowly, and she hisses in encouragement and grinds back against him. He withdraws just a fraction before rolling his hips forward, sheathing himself in her entirely, and they both moan this time; Zelda open-mouthed and high-pitched, Link through his teeth.

It’s different, this new angle, deeper and tighter and deliciously rough, Link’s fingers grasping at her waist, harsh and bruising and everything Zelda has been wanting. She cries out brokenly with every thrust, arms threatening to give out beneath her, and she hazards a glance back at him over her shoulder as she rocks back against him of her own accord.

Link’s breath comes in short pants, his lips barely parted, red-faced and dewy with exertion. He meets her eyes, lashes lowered, and though his pupils are blown and his expression is hungry, Zelda can see the tension in his shoulders, and she knows he still has a firm grasp on his self-restraint, that his control hasn’t slipped, not yet. 

He smiles at her and grinds down hard, and Zelda releases a strangled moan that has her squeezing her eyes closed and clenching her muscles around him. “Don’t hold back,” she manages. “You won’t break me.” 

She feels a hand wrap around her hair, and she’s suddenly hauled upright, her head snapping back, and she cries out softly, back flush against Link’s chest and Link’s breath hot in her ear. “Like this?” 

She keens and pushes back against him. “Yes.”

“Do you want me to touch you?”

“ _Yes_.” 

His hand snakes down her torso and midsection to rub small circles between her legs, and Zelda cries out in relief, suddenly realising how desperate she was for the friction. Her breathing slows, her moans reduced to the occasional whimper, thighs quivering and chest heaving, and she knows that Link knows what that means. 

His hand moves faster but his thrusts are slow and deliberate, deep and measured, and he puts his mouth against her ear again, says, “That’s it—that’s it—come on, Princess—” and Zelda’s head falls back in a wordless cry as her body succumbs to her climax, and Link holds and strokes her through it, steady and sure, like always. 

When she’s done, he lowers them both onto the mattress, rolls them onto their sides, winds his arm around her torso and grips her waist hard with the other, pushing into her fast and frantic. Zelda relishes in the obscenities that spill from his mouth and the way his hips snap against her, and she gasps in delight when he bites down hard on her neck when he finishes, groaning into her skin.

They drift off like that—Link spooned around her, lips ghosting the back of her neck, and if she were to stir from sleep, Zelda knows he’ll only hold her tighter. 

* * *

Raising her arms to do her hair takes some effort the next morning, but Zelda smiles through the welcome soreness. She’s twisting her head in the mirror for a better look at her braid when she sees it. 

“Link,” she laughs, letting her hair loose. “Come here.”

Link wanders over, still warm and sleep-tousled, kisses the back of her head and meets her eyes in the mirror. “You okay?”

Zelda wordlessly sweeps her hair over one shoulder, tilts her head to the side, and Link lets out a lamenting groan at what he sees: a line of broken blood vessels, evidence of where he’d bit her, stark in contrast against the pale skin of her neck.

“A fun talking point for the council meeting tomorrow,” he says.

Zelda smiles at his reflection. “Next time,” she says patiently, “only mark me where you and I will see it.” 

“Next time,” Link agrees, and presses a kiss against the purpling bruise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to put up some of my shorter smutty pieces on here and decided this was the best way to do it. If you follow my tumblr you'll probably have seen them all before, but new ones will be posted here too.


	3. asphyxia

Zelda once heard that all great discoveries happened by accident.

She’s on top, riding him, when it happens. She has already finished—twice, actually, he had made sure of that—and Link is well on his way. He loves to have her like this, loves to be able to lean up to kiss her so easily, or bury his face in her chest to muffle his groans, arms wrapped tight about her waist as he pushes up into her.

But when he’s close, like he is now, he likes to lie down flat, hands gripping the curve of her behind as he shudders beneath her, letting her control the pace.  _Zelda—Zelda_ , he whispers, a plea and a warning, his head thrown back, brows furrowed, lips parted in a moan.

His hips jerk up once, roughly, and for a split second, Zelda is thrown off-balance. She reaches out to steady herself, and her hand comes down hard—right onto Link’s neck. 

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry!” Zelda rights herself quickly and leans down to cover his neck and face in apologetic kisses. “Are you all right? Did you—?”

She looks down to where they’re still joined and is met with a sticky mess. Relieved, her eyes come up again to Link’s reddened face. He’s staring at the ceiling, chest heaving with the aftermath of his climax, eyes stunned wide, but his eyelashes flutter and he gives her a small smile as Zelda hovers over him again.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Her thumb idly traces his neck, concerned. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He shakes his head, takes her hand and presses a kiss against her palm. “That was lovely, thank you.”

Zelda laughs a little, leaning down to kiss him. “You need to stop thanking me every time we make love.”

“You did all the work,” Link says, struggling to sit up. “I’m just showing my gratitude.”

“I almost throttled you,” Zelda points out.

For just a moment, that same wide-eyed, glassy expression crosses Link’s features, but then it’s gone, and he pulls himself up to sitting position and wraps his arms about her waist. “No harm done,” he says, jiggling her in his lap and making her laugh. “You hungry?”

And just like that, the accident is forgotten.

* * *

Until—

Zelda’s on top again, losing herself in a delicious grind, one hand planted on Link’s chest as she moves. He watches her with a wonderful slackjawed expression, gaze flickering from her face to where she feverishly works between her legs with her free hand. She lets out a strained moan, and Link tightens his grip on her hips, muttering lowly, “That’s it, Princess—come for me,” and Zelda’s entire body seizes up as her orgasm takes her.

He waits until her legs stop trembling and then beckons her down to him, and she smiles as she lowers her body over his to kiss him, carefully starting to move again as she does. She rolls her hips down over and over until she feels his legs starting to clench, and then she pushes herself upright again, both hands on his chest for leverage.

“Zelda,” Link says, “wait.”

Zelda slows, patient. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just—” he cuts himself off, tries again, “can you—” but he doesn’t finish that thought either.

“What?” Zelda asks, perplexed.

Link bites his lip, as if physically trying to hold back words. Then he carefully takes Zelda’s wrists, lifting her hands from his chest, and he brings them up to gently place them around his neck.

Zelda freezes. She allows Link to hold her there, keeping eye contact for a long moment of silence. “You want…?”

“Yes,” Link whispers.

Zelda finds herself shaking her head. “Link, I—I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Zelda flexes her fingers experimentally and she hears Link suck in a breath through his teeth, feels him twitch beneath her. She meets his eyes again. “Are you sure?”

Link nods. She feels the tendons of his neck move beneath her hands.

“Okay.” She swallows, readjusting her fingers so that she won’t be pressing against his windpipe. “I’ll be gentle,” she promises.

“Don’t be,” Link says. He flushes, embarrassed, but Zelda just smiles and leans down to kiss him, gently taking his bottom lip between her teeth.

She starts to move again, slow and measured, hyper-aware of his breathing. One of his hands falls to curl over her hip, while the other stays around her wrists, keeping her hands at his neck. Zelda waits until they’ve fallen back into a rhythm, and then, watching Link’s face for any sign of distress, she starts to press down.

Link’s eyes slip closed and his mouth falls open on a gasp. His grip on her tightens, his core tensing, faltering slightly as he pushes up into her. “Harder,” he manages, and Zelda complies, pushing with just her thumbs, trying not to forget herself in the friction.

She relieves the pressure after just a couple of seconds, playing it safe, and Link lets out a noise akin to a sob as she releases him. “Again?” she asks softly.

“ _Please_.”

Zelda doesn’t wait, just presses in with her thumbs again, feeling a thrill of gratification shoot through her as she looks upon his face. He strains against her hands, head thrown back, for the three seconds that she grasps him tight. She lets go for just a moment, allowing him to briefly recover, and then repeats.

Link swallows hard, and Zelda feels it against her palms. He’s silent but for the occasional desperate gasp, and when Zelda releases him this time, she times it with a heady roll of her hips. Link’s hand comes away from her wrists, fumbling blindly for her waist, fingernails biting into her flesh, but she barely feels it.

“I’m gonna—I’m—” Link rasps, so Zelda grasps him again as she grinds against him, and Link surges up with finality, mouth open in a silent, agonized moan. She delights in the pulse of his body beneath her, at the helpless jerk of his hips, feeling him go boneless and pliant when he’s done.

Zelda eases her grip on his neck, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, watching Link pant beneath her, spent. When he looks at her, his eyes are watery, but he looks so calm, so sated, that Zelda isn’t worried.

“That was—” he tries, but he’s breathing too hard to get there.

“Yeah,” Zelda says, smiling softly. She reaches out to touch his face, and he turns his cheek into her palm. “Yeah, it was.”

She slips sideways off of him and pulls the blankets over them, and he turns to her, pushing his face into her chest, his arms tight around her waist. She gently strokes his neck, then wraps her fingers around it again, and he chuckles quietly, nuzzling closer.  

“I know you told me not to say it,” Link says, “but thank you.”

Zelda presses a kiss to his hair, and settles down more comfortably against him to sleep. She says, “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Zelda is applying pressure to the arteries of Link's neck to temporarily reduce oxygen getting to the brain; this is _strangling_ as opposed to _choking_ (which risks damage to the larynx and oesophagus and can literally kill your partner) and so is technically not breathplay. 
> 
> Actual breath control play/erotic asphyxiation is risky and you should absolutely not attempt it without personal instruction from a professional master/dominatrix with extensive experience. While what I've written is a slightly safer option I still do not condone or recommend either practice. Don't want nobody getting killed 'cause of me.


	4. unassuming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more rough sex, with Link taking the lead this time.

Link never looks dangerous unless he wants to.

He’s humble. Earnest. Short in stature and quiet in nature. Soft, sometimes, in certain places: the curve of his cheeks, his belly during the winter, his lips against hers. Battle-hardened palms often the roughest thing about him.

Zelda knows what he’s capable of. She’s seen with her own eyes what he’s done. But sometimes, in his quieter moments, when he’s calmly combing through his hair with his fingers, or humming to himself as he cooks, it can be hard to believe that this boy is the same man who brought down evil. The same boy who once shouldered the weight of the world.

Even in their private moments, his mouth hot and insistent on hers, eyes ravenous and touch possessive as he undresses her and pushes her down, Zelda forgets that he’s only so unassuming because he chooses to be. 

So when Link drags her to the edge of the bed by her ankles she just thinks he’s being playful. She doesn’t think anything of it if he’s a little rougher than usual when he spreads her legs. He pulls her hips towards him and enters her abruptly, without warning, and that’s new, but Zelda doesn’t object, gasping at the suddenness of it and pushing to get closer.

She waits for him to draw back, to start moving, but Link remains still.

“What are you waiting for?” Her laugh is breathless, fluttering. She squirms impatiently. “Move.” 

“No,” Link says quietly, and everything stops.

Zelda knows that voice.

It’s that same tone he slips into when their bodies are flush, when she wants to feel his weight on her and so he acquiesces, pinning her down with the harsh grind of his hips and the depth of his thrusts. When he pushes his mouth against her ear and says  _let me hear you_  like a command, and the words force the orgasm out of her like a wave breaking inside her head. 

She revels in those rare moments where he takes control, when something in his eyes turns carnal and wild. Asserts himself with a quiet dominance, leaves reminders in the form of love bites and bruises, and it always starts with  _that voice_.

So now, with Link’s grip on her hips gentle but firm, that one word has her heart hammering against her ribcage. He holds her there a moment more, the anticipation making her clench slick and tight around him, a tremor spreading through her body when he speaks again. 

"What are you waiting for?” Link says softly, her words in his voice. “Move.” 

It takes her a moment to understand, but Zelda swallows, bracing her hands on the mattress and wrapping her legs around him. She bites her lip and shifts her body back, slowly, and then forward again until he’s inside her to the hilt, moaning softly in relief.

Link says, “Faster.” 

Zelda speeds up as best she can, trembling but eager, gasping as she pulls herself onto him again and again. She’s panting, shaking from the effort of moving, clumsily thrusting against him in a pitiful imitation of how he’d normally take her. Every sensation feels magnified, his steady gaze and silence only intensifying the friction, like he’s just observing, like he’s some kind of spectator watching her perform for him. 

Her whole body is burning and tight from wanting more of him, but Link makes no attempt to touch her. She’s losing herself in the obscenity, the acute awareness of him sliding in and out of her nearly maddening, and when he tilts his head and smiles at her it makes something inside her snap. 

She feels it come over her, then, the rush surging up her limbs, forcing her spine to arch, her head falling back. “Link,” she chokes, hands scrambling in the blankets for purchase, wanting it harder, deeper,  _more_ , “I’m almost—almost _—”_

And that’s when Link takes her hips and pulls her off him.

The sudden emptiness of him withdrawing makes her climax peak so briefly that she nearly screams in frustration, her body clenching and convulsing in desperation as she collapses onto the bed.

“No, don’t…” She’s strung so tight she’s mindlessly begging, each breath rasping out of her as she tries to recover. “Please don’t stop,  _please…”_

Head clouded, dizzy with heat and want, Zelda is only aware that Link has climbed onto the bed when he takes her by her thighs and turns her over. She whines quietly as he drags her closer and pulls her hips up off the mattress, and when he swiftly moves into her again, the noise she makes is close to a sob. 

Link is still silent, holding her hips steady with one hand, drawing the other slowly up her spine as he folds his body over hers. He applies gentle pressure between her shoulderblades, pinning her down so her chest is flush against the bed, his hand coming to rest on the back of her neck, holding her there. 

His grip is warm and comforting, and when he puts his mouth against her ear his voice makes her shiver. “Do you want this?”

She’s trembling again, or maybe she never stopped. Zelda nods weakly, cheek pressed to the mattress, hands fisted in the sheets. 

“Let me hear you.”

A whimper catches in her throat. “Please.”

Link doesn’t move. 

She tries to push back against him but he’s still holding her down. “Please,” she says again, a little more desperate, a little more broken. “Please, Link.” 

“Please what?” he asks quietly. 

Face burning and throat tight, her voice comes as barely a whisper. “Fuck me.” 

Link’s breath is hot, ragged, on the back of her neck. “Louder.”

He shifts his hips incrementally, and the meager friction makes her ache. Breathing hard, Zelda turns her head again, looking over her shoulder as best she can. Link watches her patiently, smiling a little when she meets his eyes.

“Fuck me,” she says, voice low but clear. “Please, fuck me.” 

Link brushes the hair from the nape of her neck and fits his lips against it, the weight of his chest against her back making her sigh. He kisses her ear, then down her jaw, and by the time he reaches her mouth she’s straining against him again, body begging for touch. He breaks the kiss, still close enough that she can feel his mouth move against hers as he speaks. 

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs. 

Zelda smiles. “Never.” 

Then Link’s mouth is gone and his grip on her neck is tight, and he rolls his hips once and Zelda’s vision goes white. He does it again, slower, deeper, making sure she can feel him at every nerve, Zelda quietly moaning and pushing back against him in time with each thrust.

Link, for his part, is silent, breathing soft and even through his nose even as he holds her down, pushing into her faster and harder every time Zelda’s cries rise higher in pitch. The force of his movements makes the whole bed rock, the noise of the headboard hitting the wall nearly drowning her out as her voice starts to leave her, helpless and nerveless against the bed, but somehow she still manages to beg.

“Please—don’t stop,  _don’t stop_ … oh, Gods, Link— _please._ ”

The noise Link makes is nearly a growl, tightening his grip on her neck and waist, hips snapping against her so hard she knows she’s going to feel it for days. She can barely speak now, words choked by broken cries, and when Link folds himself over her again, his hand leaving her neck to snake down between her legs, she can’t even moan anymore. He barely needs to touch her, the harsh rhythm of his hips amplifying every graze of his fingertips, and Zelda doesn’t realise she’s close until suddenly she  _is_. 

She can’t find the words to tell him but Link already knows, his mouth at her ear and voice still steady even as his he rocks into her harder.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “Come for me.” 

She does. 

Pressed against the mattress, Link pinning her down, Zelda’s cry is lost to the climax that ravishes her body. She’s reduced to fractured whimpers, involuntarily bucking back against him but Link holds her steady, still buried inside her. He moves with her slowly, helping draw it out, coaxing her through the swell and ebb of orgasm until the rush of it leaves her, her body gone pliant, spent.

He just holds her there for a moment, trembling and panting beneath him, before she feels him draw back to begin again.

“Wait, wait—Link, stop,” Zelda says, voice a little hoarse. “I can’t.” 

Link withdraws from her immediately, murmuring an apology when she whimpers at the loss of him, then lowers himself down onto the bed next to her. His face is etched in concern when she meets his eyes, brushing back her hair and pulling her close.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Did I hurt you?”

She smiles, reaching out to touch him. “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”

Link gently takes hold of her wrist, turning his face to press a kiss to her palm. “Was it too much?” he murmurs.

Zelda shakes her head. “No. You know how much I love that voice.”

She feels him smiling against her fingers. “Yeah, I know.” 

Link closes his eyes, humming softly as he drags his mouth back and forth over her knuckles, breath steady and warm against her skin. Zelda watches him for a long while, entranced by the curve of his eyelashes and the blush decorating his cheeks. It’s moments like this, when he’s quiet and content and gentle, it’s much too easy to forget how assertive he can be. Zelda thinks she could do with a reminder. 

She draws her leg up, her toes skimming his calf. Link’s eyes flutter open as she does it, expression bright and inquisitive as she slants her knee over his hip and pulls him in closer, pressing herself up against him in invitation. 

“What are you waiting for?” Zelda says quietly. 

She feels his smile when he kisses her again, gently rolling her onto her back so he can settle between her legs. He takes his time with it, kissing slowly down her jaw and neck, hands coming up to massage her breasts, and Zelda moans at the contact, stretching her arms out above her head.

“I love you,” she tells him as he moves over her again.

“I know,” Link says, and pins her wrists to the mattress. 


	5. giving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, this piece involves Link going down on Zelda immediately after finishing inside of her. I made sure to keep it tasteful (hurr hurr) but if the concept squicks you out I'd skip this one.

When it comes to the physical aspect of their relationship, Zelda is almost embarrassed to admit that it might be a little one-sided.

To say that Link is a selfless lover would be something of an understatement. He’s altruistic in so many aspects—a  _giver_  almost to a fault, and he’s no different when he takes her to bed. He’s thorough. He’s diligent. He’s toe-curlingly meticulous. He’s reluctant to let her do any of the work, so set on  _giving_  he’s hesitant to simply lie back and  _take it_ , so focused on her pleasure he’s almost indifferent to his own.

There are occasions where she’s able to pin him down—when she works him into a frenzy with her hands and mouth before pushing him back on the bed—and Zelda can understand the appeal of  _giving._ There’s something about having that power, about knowing how a caress  _here_  and a touch  _there_  will have Link completely at her mercy, and she relishes in that knowledge, in the satisfaction of a well-timed roll of her hips that has him bucking and writhing and—

“Zelda— _Zelda_ ,  _fuck_ —”

He’s very close, presently. 

Flat on his back, his hands grasping her waist, staring up at her in awed disbelief. He’s letting her control the pace and he’s losing himself to it, his gaze flickering from her face to her breasts to where he disappears inside her, his breaths growing heavier and his keens growing louder until his hips flinch up and his head falls back. 

“Yes,” he says, a little desperately, “yes,  _oh_ —” 

And then he’s shuddering, body wound tight, hands gripping her hips as he pushes up into her. The rush of his climax is so strong even Zelda gasps from the force of it, but she keeps her rhythm and rocks down on him steadily, gradually slowing as his orgasm recedes, and Link breathes a deep, exalted sigh as she finally stills.

He goes slack beneath her, chest heaving as he comes back to himself. After a moment, he grins up at her crookedly, tousled and flushed and perfect like that, and Zelda’s chest is warm with fondness as he releases her hips to thread his fingers into her hair and pull her down into a kiss.

The kiss is almost lazy, a little clumsy because he’s still catching his breath, and they pull apart just enough for Link to murmur, “Thank you.”

Zelda laughs, giving him another brief kiss before beginning the somewhat delicate process of moving off of him without making a mess. “Thank  _you_ ,” she counters. 

“I barely did anything,” he objects, tilting his pelvis a little to assist her. “You did all the work.”

“Exactly,” Zelda says, shifting onto the bed and settling on her back. “Thank you for letting me.” She stretches out her legs and wiggles her toes before relaxing fully, and when she looks across the pillow at him she’s surprised to see him frowning. “What?” 

“You didn’t finish,” Link says. 

Zelda blinks. Sometimes when she’s astride him, when she’s  _giving_ , and Link gets that  _look_  on his face, it can be hard to separate his climax from her own. It takes her a moment to realise she didn’t. “Oh. I suppose not.”

Link rolls onto his side to face her properly, brows still drawn and looking so troubled that Zelda can’t help but laugh a little. “Don’t look so forlorn,” she says. “It’s fine. I just forgot, that’s all.”

Link actually  _scoffs_. “You  _forgot_.”

“You were being very distracting,” Zelda teases, poking the tip of his nose with one finger. His frown only deepens, so she drops the playful tone. “Honestly Link, I don’t mind.” 

Link catches her wrist as she withdraws her hand and presses a kiss against her palm in an apologetic sort of way. “ _I_  mind,” he murmurs.

“There’s always next time,” Zelda says, smiling. “If you insist on making it up to me.” 

“Hmm,” Link says thoughtfully, and he leans in and kisses her.

He’s quickly back to being distracting again, kissing her in that slow, deep, languid way that normally accompanies foreplay. It certainly isn’t lazy now, and in no time at all Zelda is slightly breathless, a little lightheaded, warmth glowing in her belly and chest at the soft, pleased noises Link makes in the back of his throat. 

He drags his mouth along her jaw to her ear and back again, then works his way down her neck, kissing her sternum and the swell of one breast before leaning down to take the peak into his mouth. Zelda sighs and melts into the mattress, carding her fingers through his hair, but it isn’t until he manoeuvres himself between her legs that she cottons on and freezes. “Wait—what are you doing?”

Link merely hums, releasing her nipple as he begins to traverse lower. Zelda squirms uncomfortably as his breath ghosts over her navel. “Really, Link, it’s fine—”

“ _We’re_  not done,” Link interrupts, still marking his way down her body with kisses, “until  _you’re_  done.”

“But—” Zelda struggles for a moment, trying to find the words to adequately convey her concerns without sounding completely vulgar. “You  _just_  finished.” 

“I know,” he says patiently, mouth pressed against her hipbone. “I was there _,_ if you do recall.” 

“And that doesn’t…” she trails off here, because Link has drawn her leg over his shoulder and has begun peppering distracting little kisses all over her inner thighs and it’s making it significantly more difficult to argue with him. “That doesn’t bother you?”

Link shrugs a little, settling more comfortably onto his stomach, and wordlessly places a soft, lingering kiss right at the apex of her thighs. Zelda’s breath audibly catches, and he looks up at her with an amused sort of glint in his eyes before he lowers his head again. 

Zelda’s hands mindlessly fist in the sheets. She isn’t really sure why she’s fighting. “At least let me clean up first,” she says weakly. 

“It’s  _my_  mess,” Link says, and sets his mouth against her. 

Zelda can’t move. She’s quivering slightly, thrumming with arousal but ultimately lying still, her fingers twisted in the sheets as she fights the urge to roll up into the wet drag of Link’s tongue. She knows he loves to do this; loves it when she pulls his hair, loves it when she angles his head the way she wants and grinds against his mouth. Normally she’d be arching, writhing, chasing the release he so desperately wants to give her—but this time she barely breathes. 

Her head is spinning, she’s hot all over, and not in the way she’s become accustomed to when Link gets between her legs. She’s burning with something bordering on shame—because this  _is_  shameful, isn’t it? This just isn’t  _done_. It feels dirty, almost obscene _._  Allowing him to put his mouth on her after he  _just—_

But then Link moans against her, so softly it makes all of the tension inside her melt. Her legs automatically fall open then, spreading wider for him, and Link makes a satisfied noise when she reaches down and fists both hands in his hair.

“Link,” she breathes, hips rising off the bed as Link’s hands curl around her thighs. He drags her closer, burying his face against her with renewed vigour, licking her open with such eagerness and intensity that Zelda promptly forgets even  _how_  to feel guilty.

“Please,” she manages. “Link—fingers— _please_.”

Link lets out a quiet chuckle before easing in. He’s gentle but insistent, sliding inside her to the knuckle, immediately curling and coaxing, stroking against that spot that makes her abdomen clench, and then words simply leave her.

She’s left gasping, one hand clutching the pillow above her head, the other still in Link’s hair though there’s no need to guide him. He knows exactly when to lick, when to suck, when it’s too much or not enough, when to just keep still and let her grind. She’s lost entire afternoons to those lips and that tongue—countless misplaced hours of Link taking her to the edge and holding her there, keeping her caught between bliss and agony until he yields to her pleading and sends her over.

Zelda begs him now in broken moans and whines, bucking up to the rhythm of Link’s fingers and mouth. He’s patient, practiced and steady, expertly swirling his tongue over her as she pushes against him, only hastening as her cries grow louder. She releases his hair to grasp his hand instead, and Link sighs, then—a soft, pleased noise low in his throat—and hearing that, hearing him enjoying this,  _wanting_  this, it sends a flood of heat through her insides so intense her toes curl. 

“Link,” Zelda says urgently, “I’m _—_ oh,  _Link—_ ”and then she’s breathless, pulsing, head thrown back and gasping, ravaged by the rush of blood that spreads up her spine. Her hips are in his hands and she’s arching off the bed, her entire world beginning and ending with Link’s mouth between her legs. 

She’s numb afterwards, sinking down into the mattress with her heartbeat throbbing in her extremities. After a moment of bewildered panting she’s able to raise her head, eyes refocusing just in time to catch Link withdrawing his fingers from her and putting them in his mouth instead.

“ _Goddess_.” She falls back onto the pillow again, covering her face with her hands. She’s still trembling. “What are you  _doing_?”

She can practically hear his shrug. “It’s not so bad,” he says.

Zelda peeks at him between her fingers. He’s still sitting between her legs, looking a little self-conscious and unsure, so she drops her hands and beckons him towards her. “Here,” she says, “let me taste.”

Link allows himself a small smile as he moves up the bed, and Zelda sits up to meet him halfway. She pulls him down with her as she kisses him, tasting the essence of both of them when her lips part under his—it’s bittersweet, just a little lewd, and something about it makes her body run hot again. 

“I can’t believe you sometimes,” she says as Link pulls away. “You’re so—” 

“Vulgar?” he offers. “Infuriating?”

Zelda laughs a little, shaking her head. “ _Generous,”_ she says.

Link hums in amusement as he settles down beside her, drawing her knee over his hip and tangling their legs together. He nuzzles his face against her neck, closing his eyes and breathing a soft, contented sigh.  

It’s the middle of the afternoon; Zelda has half a mind to warn him not to fall asleep, but then his arms tighten around her and he murmurs  _I love you_  into her skin, and she supposes, in the spirit of giving, she can give him fifteen minutes. 


	6. compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello I am not dead. I posted this to my tumblr as a response to a prompt, but I thought it would fit in nicely with this series. Enjoy~

The root of the problem is that Link is wonderfully, obnoxiously good with his mouth. 

Obviously, this isn’t necessarily a problem in and of itself. In many ways it’s actually the opposite of a problem. It only becomes a problem when it renders Zelda trembling and exhausted and utterly sated, though keen to respond in kind—and Link spends some time squirming and grumbling and being indecisive but ultimately firmly refuses. He doesn’t seem to care that the act is unbalanced, happy enough to bring himself off or simply curl his body around hers and call it a night, but Zelda would really quite like a chance to practice and it doesn’t feel particularly sporting. 

So it’s during one such instance of Link staunchly denying her the opportunity to even preemptively return the favour that Zelda had proposed a solution— inelegant and requiring some re-orienting, but what would hopefully be an effective middle ground that would provide mutual benefits. And orgasms. In theory. 

The point is, it was a good idea and Link had been eager to try it, but now that her hips are in his hands and his head is between her legs, he clearly has no interest in the concept of compromise. And in hindsight, Zelda really should have foreseen this, because it’s what got them here in the first place.  

“You’re making this very difficult,” Zelda mumbles the fourth time she has to pull away. 

“Sorry,” Link says from behind her, not sounding sorry at all. He’s on his back on top of the blankets, Zelda’s knees splayed wide and planted either side of his neck, and he immediately winds his arms tighter around her and draws her down further to meet his mouth. 

She can feel him humming contentedly, doing something filthy and wicked and wonderful with his tongue, and Zelda releases a shuddering breath and lets her head fall to rest on his thigh. She’s really been trying her hardest to swallow her moans along with everything else, but she keeps on getting distracted; she would feel much worse about her abysmal performance if Link weren’t so obviously enjoying his end of it—the evidence is right under her nose, after all—but him doing all the work is what got them here, and it kind of defeats the purpose. 

She’s about to voice this thought when Link gives an  _exquisite_  little suck, and Zelda groans right into the juncture where his leg meets his pelvis and unconsciously rolls her hips down against his face. “Gods,  _Link_ —this isn’t  _fair_.”

Link makes a noise that’s somehow both dismissive and encouraging, and takes advantage of her weakened limbs to shift himself out from beneath her and roll her onto her side. Zelda tries to protest as she hits the mattress, pushing herself up on her elbow, but when he presses her legs wider and sets his mouth to her properly the objection dies in her throat.

“Oh, Gods,” she says instead, scrambling wildly in the blankets for something to hold onto, something to anchor herself against the relentless flicking of that incredible tongue. Link is still lying almost parallel to her, so it’s impossible to miss the way he reaches down to stroke himself as he attends to her with his mouth, and Zelda moans helplessly at the sight and reaches out, trembling but determined. “Please, I want to—let me—”

She shifts herself towards him, bats his hand away to replace it with her own, and when she leans down and takes him into her mouth again she feels the vibrations of his moan curl up her spine. She closes her lips around him as much as she can, working him with her hand even as she whimpers under his attention, and a thrill of triumph rolls through her when he gives a soft groan and starts to rock against her face.

Perhaps her performance won’t end up being so abysmal after all. 

The muscles of Link’s abdomen twitch and tense as he shallowly thrusts into her mouth, needy little sounds catching in his throat when she closes her eyes and takes him as deep as she can go. She’s much quieter than she usually is, but the muffled, broken sounds of her moaning only seem to encourage him to try and make her louder—he pulls her even closer, one arm wrapped around her as he starts to bear down, his tongue twisting and curling in agonising little circles until she bucks against him and draws away with a gasp. 

“Gods, I can’t,” she whispers desperately, mindlessly, lost to the heat and rhythm Link lays into her body. “I’m sorry _,_ I  _can’t_ —you’re too  _good_ , just don’t stop—oh _, please_ —” 

She’s almost writhing when the orgasm splits her, spine bent and toes curling as she grinds against Link’s tongue. He’s still slick in her hand so she strokes him through it, clumsily putting her mouth on him again in an attempt to smother her cries, and then his hips suddenly stutter beneath her hands as he finally,  _finally_  gives in. 

Well, in theory. He actually ends up pulling away at the very last second, finishing somewhere in the vicinity of her décolletage and leaving a wet mess in her hair. She’ll need a good wash once her legs start to work, but for now, Zelda can’t keep the smile off her face as she rolls onto her back, grinning triumphantly up at the ceiling.

“Well, I think we can call that a success,” she says airily, blindly reaching down to card her fingers through Link’s hair. “You really should just finish in my mouth, though—less mess that way.” When he doesn’t reply, just gives a quiet hum, she gives his head a little scratch. “Anything to add?”

Link laughs softly, turning his face slightly to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I liked it.” 

“Enough to do it again?” 

“Maybe,” Link says. “Or you could just let me focus on you.” 

“That doesn’t sound like much of a compromise,” Zelda points out.

“Or the best kind of compromise.” 

“Kind of defeats the purpose, though.” 

“Hm.” 

He sounds happy and satisfied but pleasantly distracted—the reason for which becomes quite clear when he rolls onto his belly between her legs and begins kissing his way up the inside of her thigh. Zelda allows him to carry on with it, right until she feels his tongue teasing at her again. “Link.”

“Yes, Princess?” 

“What are you doing?”

Link laughs, licking a hot, wet stripe right along the seam of her body. “Compromising.”

He sets his mouth to her properly again, and Zelda melts into the mattress with a soft sigh. Her hands weave into his hair, hips arcing up into the press of his magnificent, obstinate tongue, and supposes that if this is Link’s idea of making concessions, she’s willing to meet him halfway.


End file.
